


Warmth

by Charlie Snow (Algedonic)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, M/M, Past Character Death, Post-Stanford, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Incest, Smoking, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 17:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Algedonic/pseuds/Charlie%20Snow
Summary: Jess has only been dead a few months, and Sam hasn't been sleeping. Having Dean close helps.





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on Tumblr on November 2, 2014.](http://topbuckys.tumblr.com/post/101617040519/sam-wakes-up-alone-the-cold-grey-light-of-a)

Sam wakes up alone. The cold grey light of a December morning is filtering in through the ugly motel curtains, and everything is quiet.

It’s early - just barely 7am by the red glow of the alarm clock in the half-light, but Dean is nowhere to be seen. Sam rolls over, huddles down under the blankets for just another minute before slipping from the heat and comfort of the bed to find his clothes.

It’s weird, this thing with Dean. Not new - hasn’t been new in  _years_ , but still. It feels new, phantom of Dean’s hands on him after four years of nothing. Hasn’t even been two months since Jess and it’s still raw, still stings like fuck every time he thinks about it and he can’t stop thinking about it, never for more than an hour at a time. Dean helps. Dean’s fingers in his hair, Dean’s lips on his own, Dean’s heat pressed against his back while he sleeps. It helps. A little. Makes him feel a little less like he’s drowning.

He tugs Dean’s jacket a little tighter around himself as he slips out the motel door, cold air stinging his throat and making his knuckles ache. He finds Dean on the hood of the Impala, cigarette dangling between his fingers, grey smoke curling up to join the grey sky.

Dean’s mouth quirks when he sees Sam, almost a smile, and Sam thinks he’s beautiful. “Hey, Sammy.”

“You shouldn’t smoke.” Sam says, sliding up onto the car next to Dean, not quite touching. He plucks the cigarette from Dean’s fingers and takes a drag, relishes the burn in his lungs.

Dean shifts closers, kisses Sam’s cheek and wraps his arm around Sam’s shoulders before snagging the smoke back from him. “How’d you sleep?”

Sam sighs a little, rests his head against Dean’s shoulder, little nicotine buzz making his limbs feel heavy. “Better. No nightmares. First time since. You know. I think, um. You help.”

Dean kisses the top of his head, and it’s nice, this easy affection. Dean’s not usually like this anymore, hasn’t been like this since Sam was a kid, but Sam. Sam likes it. Makes him feel safe, makes him feel wanted, cared for, and maybe Dean knows it. Maybe that’s why. Maybe Dean knows Sam needs it. Needs the touching and the closeness, needs to fall asleep so tangled up in Dean he’s not sure where either of them starts or stops, not sure it actually matters.

“You sure it’s not too much, Sammy? Last night- we don’t have to do that.”

Sam sighs, tucks himself closer into Dean’s side, lets his eyes shut. “Stop that.”

They’d been sharing a bed for weeks - Sam couldn’t sleep alone, could barely sleep even with Dean’s arms around him. The nightmares kept him up most nights, but it was better when Dean was right there to pull him out of them as soon as they started, better with the weight of Dean’s arm around his waist or Dean’s heartbeat steady in his ear. It was loss that terrified Sam, waking up to find Dean bleeding on the ceiling or just  _gone_ , and Sam. Couldn’t. Couldn’t lose Dean too. Wouldn’t survive it.

He slept easier when he could feel Dean, feel him alive and  _there_ , within reach.

Last night had been. Different.

They hadn’t talked about it, but it wasn’t unexpected. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to feel Dean’s hips press against his ass, feel Dean’s arm tighten around his waist. He’d stopped, as soon as he’d realized, whispered  _Shit, Sammy, I’m sorry, I-_  but Sam wanted. For the first time since Jess he’d felt a spark in his belly, felt his dick stir a little.

He’d grabbed Dean’s hand, tugged it up to his lips and kissed his knuckles and said  _it’s okay. It’s okay, Dean._

Dean had gasped a little, his breath on the back of Sam’s neck making Sam shiver, and Sam had slid Dean’s hand down, down, down, pressed their palms against his half-hard dick and rocked his hips back.

Sam had come like that, they both had, Dean riding the cleft of Sam’s ass through two layers of fabric and kissing his neck, Sam rubbing off against Dean’s palm, and Sam had slept through the night for the first time in weeks.

“Just want you to be okay, Sammy. You’re so. You seem so  _tired_.”

Sam smiles a little, looks up at Dean. “Yeah. Slept last night though. Whole six hours.”

“Sam.”

Sam sighs, pulls away and wraps Dean’s jacket tighter around himself. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean,” he starts, quietly, “I’m not okay. You know I’m not okay. And I’m not gonna  _be_  okay for a  _while_. I was in love with her. Not like. Not like with you. But I was. And she died. I watched her die. And most nights… most nights I watch her die all over again. I’m not okay. But I’m  _better_ , when you’re here. I feel a little bit less like I’m dying when you’re touching me. And right now, Dean? Right now, that’s all I can ask for. Last night I didn’t have to watch her burn. Last night you gave me my first orgasm and first night’s sleep since Jess died and there are no words for how fucking much I needed that, for how  _grateful_  I am for it. So yeah. I’m tired. I’m not okay. But this? You and I? It makes it better. Makes me better.”

Dean cards his fingers up into Sam’s hair, scratches at his scalp and it makes Sam shiver. “You tell me if it’s ever too much too soon, okay?”

Sam nods. Dean’s the only thing that makes Sam feel human, reminds him that he’s more than grief and fury and loss, but he understands. Dean’s his brother. Always gonna be his big brother, always gonna look out for him, even when Sam doesn’t want him to. “Okay.”

“Good,” Dean says, squeezes the back of his neck and flicks the cigarette butt out into the parking lot. He leans over, kisses Sam once on the lips, chaste and easy like he used to when they were kids. “We should go in. Fucking freezing out here.”

It’s moments like this - with Dean’s hands and voice and  _presence_  holding him up like a buoy in a storm - that make Sam believe that some day he’ll be okay. That some day he’ll be able to go hours, even, without wondering if he could have saved her life, saved  _their_  life.

Sam nods, slides down off the hood and tugs Dean with him, keeps tugging until he can get his arms around Dean’s waist and bury his face in Dean’s neck.

Dean doesn’t say a word, doesn’t call him a girl or bitch about chick flick moments, just rubs little circles on Sam’s back and kisses his hair and says, “You’ll be okay. Alright? We’ll get through all this. Not going anywhere, Sammy.”

And Sam believes him.


End file.
